


bittersweet I could taste in my mouth

by DAZzle_10



Series: You belong with me [3]
Category: Rugby RPF, Rugby Union RPF
Genre: Acceptance, Christianity, Homophobia, M/M, Sarries Family being a family (in the background)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-23 19:04:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18555907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DAZzle_10/pseuds/DAZzle_10
Summary: “And are you alright with that?” Dylan asks quietly.“No, not really,” Owen admits.My take on Billy and everything that's happened with him lately.





	bittersweet I could taste in my mouth

**Author's Note:**

> So, originally, I wasn't going to post this. I left it half-written, and I was going to keep it to myself. However, it's been circling around my head a lot, and somewhere within staying up to watch Game of Thrones, doing my remaining Maths/FM work to avoid going to sleep and generally looking for excuses not to go to bed (not that I haven't been sitting in my bed while doing my homework and writing this), I decided to finish it off and post it. Might've had something to do with noticing other people had written things and therefore I wouldn't be the only one...
> 
> I'd like to say that, while some people think Billy should've gotten a much harsher punishment, I think Saracens and the RFU dealt with it well. Mark McCall also had a word or two with him, I think, as did Brad Barritt and the Sarries boys themselves. I believe he is sorry, and that a lot of his response came from his feeling attacked himself. What he said wasn't right, and I'd still feel a little uncomfortable meeting him - so I can't imagine how LGBTQ+ kids in and around Saracens or even any rugby clubs must feel. At the same time, while I'm not entirely against the booing and I did appreciate Bristol Bears playing 'It's Raining Men', running onto the pitch to confront him was just poor taste.
> 
> So... yeah. That's where I stand with it. (But seriously, to think I was considering staying up until 02:00 was bad on Saturday morning/Friday night... I'm going to regret this, I know it.)

The atmosphere in the changing room is tense. Owen can feel it, can feel the stiff uncertainty prickling from every single one of his teammates – and from himself, too. The cause of it has remained unspoken, but everyone knows what’s happened, what it means and what it could lead to. If they’re not careful, a rift will grow in this team, and as much as Owen hates what’s happened, that’s the last thing he wants.

He changes quickly, but doesn’t leave, keeping an eye on his lone teammate, shunned very slightly by everyone else in their moral indignation and need not to seem as if they’re supporting what he said. No one wants to make the same mistake.

On the flip side, Owen’s lost count of the number of people who have asked if he’s alright, if Dylan’s alright, and he’s glad that each time he assures someone that, yes, they’re both fine, it’s not a lie. Dylan’s getting better at dealing with it, and it helps when he talks to Owen, works out his frustration about it to get his fury off his chest. They’ve reached a sort of compromise of emotion: Owen will feel annoyed about it if Dylan doesn’t come down to vent his ire directly to the source.

Even without said compromise, though, there’s been a constant anxiety, hovering in the back of his mind since he first saw the post. It dries the back of his throat, leaves his fingers a little jittery, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up every time he feels a little vulnerable, a little open a judged, and it’s like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop, dreading the moment that another of his teammates, his friends, will admit that no, they’re not comfortable, that they don’t think that what he’s doing is right – that he himself is _right_.

He’s been shoving it out of his mind as best he can.

As soon as his teammate leaves, he follows, strides quickly across the room to catch the door just as it starts to swing shut and falls into step next to the younger man. He doesn’t even get a glance, only a tightening of the jaw as knuckles shine through taught skin, fingers clenching around the straps of his teammate’s bag.

For a second or two, they walk in silence, breathing mismatched and footsteps echoing discordantly down the corridor. Owen watches carefully, but there’s no returning stare, the obvious tension the only sign that his presence has even been registered.

“Did you mean it?” he asks quietly, and finally, Billy looks at him.

“If you’re going to have a go at me, just get it over with.”

“I’m not going to have a go at you,” Owen shoves his hands into his pockets. “I just want to know if you meant it.”

Billy’s walk slows as he continues to stare at Owen, and Owen copies the deceleration.

“It’s my faith,” Billy’s words are cautious, reluctant, waiting defensively to be mocked.

“I know,” Owen sighs, glancing away. “That’s not… I’m not going to be angry at you for trusting in your God, or anything like that. I just… I thought you were fine. With me.”

It comes out more vulnerable than he’d have liked, his tone a little more pleading: for reassurance, acceptance, understanding. He thought everyone here supported him, thought he was safe to be himself, and now… Now, he’s not so sure.

“I…”

It’s Billy’s turn to look away. Owen watches his teammate’s chest rise, hears the rush of exhaled air.

“I am,” Billy tells him finally, but doesn’t sound sure. “It’s not… I love everyone. I just…”

“You’re accepting me _despite_ it,” Owen concludes flatly. “You still think it’s wrong, yeah?”

For a long, drawn out moment, Billy doesn’t reply. Owen can’t even hear him breathing in this nearly-silent space, doesn’t remember when their feet stopped falling on the solid floor, when they stilled to navigate the new discovery that they are not as comfortable around one another as they thought.

“How you live your life is your choice,” Billy says eventually. “But its not how I’d live mine. And it’s not how I want you to live yours – as someone I care about.”

Teeth clenching, Owen jerks his head in a stiff nod.

“I see.”

“I’m never going to insult you over it, or disrespect it,” Billy’s tone carries just a hint of apology. “I just… It’s not what God intended. It’s not what He wanted. And I believe that we should live by what God wanted.”

“If God didn’t want me to be gay,” Owen’s lips twist a little at the words. “Why did he make me gay?”

He wisely keeps his mouth shut about what else he wants to say about Billy’s God, because he’s not here to attack his teammate’s faith, doesn’t want to go into that and certainly doesn’t see any need to.

“Don’t say you think it’s a choice,” he says instead. “I promise you, I’d _never_ have chosen this if it was an option.”

“You don’t… like it?” Billy cocks his head.

“Do I like it?” Owen snorts, trying to keep the bitter note from his tone. “Maybe. Now that I’ve got Dylan. I thought I was a _freak_ when I was younger. I thought I was going to disappoint my dad. I thought I was going to let him down.”

“Oh,” Billy swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I don’t know, then. Maybe it’s a test.”

“Some fair fucking test,” Owen rolls his eyes. “Why don’t you have to go through it?”

Billy, apparently, has nothing to say to that. Owen waits semi-patiently while his younger teammate shrugs and looks away, but Billy offers nothing, so in the end, Owen simply sighs and shrugs, stepping away to head home; Dylan’s meant to be arriving in a few hours, and he wants his house to look at least a little presentable – not because he _needs_ to around Dylan, but because his partner would tease him for the entire time.

“See you tomorrow.”

“Faz,” Billy’s voice stops him, and he twists to look at the younger man expectantly. “Look, I can’t just change my faith. I believe that God wants it to be man and woman, and I can’t go against that. That doesn’t mean that I’m going to look at everything you do with Dyls and think that it’s wrong. Love is love, I just… Don’t ask me to outright promote it.”

Owen examines him closely, eyes narrowed.

“Never put that sort of shit on Instagram again, yeah?” he presses, and gets a hurried nod. “And watch out for Dylan next time you see him. He gets pretty angry about this sort of thing.”

It’s as close to forgiveness as he’s willing – and comfortable – to give right now. Wordlessly, Billy nods again.

 

“How was training?” Dylan asks when they’re sat together for dinner, one arm slung loosely over Owen’s shoulders.

Owen knows that his boyfriend isn’t talking about _training_ , so much as _training with Billy_. Shrugging, he keeps his eyes on the plate in his lap, trying to find something truthful to say that won’t make Dylan even more pissed off than the older man already is; he doesn’t want Dylan to get even more upset about this, just wants it all to blow over so that Dylan won’t have to think about it anymore.

“I talked to Bill,” he offers finally, relieved that his voice stays neutral in tone.

“Yeah?”

Owen has to shrug again, even as he struggles to express how he feels about the conversation.

“He was honest,” he manages. “His faith says it’s not what God wanted, and he thinks that everyone should live as close to possible as God wanted. He won’t judge us for being who we are, though. ‘Love is love,’ he said. He accepts us, just…”

“In spite of this,” Dylan sighs, and Owen can’t help but blink as he nods automatically.

“That’s what I said, too.”

He still can’t find a way to explain what emotions this has brought forth, how it hasn’t _really_ been enough to settle him. He still feels uneasy, still feels prickly and vulnerable, but if a conversation like that doesn’t work, he doesn’t know what is.

“And are you alright with that?” Dylan asks quietly.

“No, not really,” Owen admits, blowing out a breath. “He’s my teammate – he’s my friend. It’s not like I’m just going to shut him out. But…”

“Yeah,” Dylan’s lips brush Owen’s hair as he speaks, the arm around Owen’s shoulder tightening to close what little gap remains between them as Dylan kisses the side of Owen’s head. “Yeah, I get it.”

For a few minutes, neither man speaks. Owen doesn’t feel the need to respond, and Dylan doesn’t seem to have anything else to say. If they leave their meals too long, the food will go cold, too; they have hours to talk about this, if they want to.

“Do you think we should… say something?” Dylan asks finally. “Everyone’s going to want our opinions – yours, particularly, anyway.”

“I think…” Owen hesitates. “Let them ask. If they don’t spin whatever I say the right way, we can to your Instagram or something – if you _really_ want. But I don’t fancy just wading in.”

Dylan remains silent for several seconds.

“You don’t have to fight every battle,” Owen reminds him. “Sometimes you have to choose when to save your strength.”

The warm puff of air from Dylan’s startled laugh brushes against his ear, and he has to admit that his own words have surprised him a little, too. It sounds strangely… profound.

“When did you get so wise?” Dylan teases him.

Rolling his eyes, Owen pretends that he wasn’t thinking along the same lines and instead digs his elbow into Dylan’s ribs. _Probably, when I landed myself in a relationship with you._

_Probably, when I stopped being ashamed to be me._


End file.
